


Never Getting Tired of This

by mimithereader



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, BAMF Sheriff Stilinski, Bedwetting, Crying Stiles, Cuddling, Gen, Hot Chocolate, Nightmares, Scared!Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski is the best dad ever, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stilinski Family Feels, dream suicide that is not real, referenced mama stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimithereader/pseuds/mimithereader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Stiles wets the bed after a nightmare about his mother or his father not caring about him. The sheriff catches him trying to clean up and crying so he comforts him and offers him closure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Getting Tired of This

_Stiles walked in the front door, happy that his dad was home. He hadn’t seen him recently._

  
_“Hey, dad, didn’t think you’d be home this early. Didn’t you say you were working?” Stiles called out. Not receiving a response, he continued, “Maybe we can go get dinner? Then watch a movie or some - ”_

  
_The words died on Stiles’s lips as he rounded the corner into the kitchen and took in the scene in front of him. His dad was at the table, service gun in hand, staring down the barrel._

  
_Stiles froze._

  
_His dad looks up at him. He doesn’t move the gun._

  
_“Dad?”_

  
_“I can’t do this anymore, Stiles.”_

  
_Stiles swallows thickly before asking, “C-can’t do what anymore?”_

  
_“This. All of this. All of your bullshit.”_

  
_Stiles tries to push the panic away. “Dad, this isn’t the way to deal with it.”_

  
_“It’s too much, Stiles.”_

  
_“Dad, please. Dad. Put down the gun. Please.”_

  
_“You’re too much.”_

  
_Stiles can’t stop his tears as he sees his dad’s finger twitch on the trigger._

  
_“Dad don’t! Dad. Please! No! Please, please don’t! Don’t leave me, dad. Don’t do this. Please!” Stiles pleaded._

  
_“Things were so much better with your mother here.”_

  
_“I miss her, too, dad. So much.”_

  
_“I miss her.”_

  
_“Me too. Me too. Please, dad. Please. I can’t lose you, too. Dad - ”_

  
_“I can’t handle this on my own, Stiles - ”_

  
_“You’re not on your own, dad. You have me. Please!”_

  
_“You’re the problem,” his dad says, letting out a bitter laugh._

  
_Stiles hesitates slightly, shocked at his father’s words._

  
_“I – I can be better! I’ll be better, I’ll be a better son, I won’t get in trouble, I’ll stop with all the werewolf stuff, just please don’t do this.”_

  
_“How many times have I heard that one, son? This is your fault. I’m done.”_

  
_“Daddy, please. I need you! Daddy - ”_

  
_His words were cut off at the sound of a shot ringing throughout the house._

 

Stiles sits up with a gasp, hands flailing to grip at something, anything, but only finding sheets.

  
It was a dream. It was just a dream. His dad was fine. He was fine. He is still breathing too fast, still panicked, but that’s okay. It’s okay. _It was just a dream._

  
The relief that washes over him vanishes as soon as he notices his sheets were soaked. The tears that were already streaming down his face come faster upon the realization that he had just wet the bed like an actual _child._

  
He stands up quickly, shaking from the fear his dream – _nightmare_ – instilled in him. He begins pulling the blanket from his bed. He tosses a pillow backwards, accidentally knocking the lamp off his nightstand. The crash doesn’t even faze him, still too wrapped up in the visions of his dad with a gun to his head.

  
John wakes from the light doze he had fallen into on the couch when he hears the distinguishable sound of glass shattering.

  
“Stiles?” he yells.

  
When he doesn’t receive a response he goes upstairs to check on his son. The knock on his door startles Stiles out of his trance.

  
“Stiles?”

  
“Hang – hang on,” Stiles calls out.

  
But John _knows_ that sound. He can easily pick out the way his son’s voice cracks and he knows he isn’t okay. He opens the door, decidedly not “hanging on”, unwilling to leave his crying kid alone. He sees Stiles pulling his sheet off the bed. Pillows and blankets are strewn around the room, a lamp broken on the floor. Tears are streaming down Stiles’s face. It isn’t hard to put the pieces together.

  
He walks across the room and pulls Stiles away from where his shaking hands are still tugging at a stubborn corner of the sheet. He drags Stiles into a hug. Stiles tries to pull away at first, very aware of his damp boxers, but his dad just hold him closer.

  
“It’s okay,” John whispers, pressing a kiss to his son’s hair.

  
He only pulls away once Stiles has managed to catch his breath again and his sobs have died down. He walks over to Stiles’s dresser and grabs a pair of boxers. He hands them to Stiles, nudging him gently towards the bathroom. Stiles hesitates, glancing at the soiled sheets.

  
“I’ve got it, kiddo,” John assures him, catching what Stiles was looking at.

  
Stiles nods, walking into the bathroom. John waits for the bathroom door to click shut before grabbing the sheet and heading downstairs. He put the soiled linen in the washer machine and turns it on. Hearing the shower start upstairs, he goes into the living room and sets up the DVD player with _The Avengers_ , knowing Stiles would not be up for going back to sleep yet.

  
John goes into the kitchen to make hot chocolate as he hears the shower shut off. Stiles emerges at the bottom of the stair, clad in the fresh pair of boxers and one of his dad’s t-shirts.

  
“Go ahead and start the movie, kid. I’ll be there in a second,” John tells his son, gesturing towards the TV.

  
John rummages around in one of the kitchen cabinets until he comes up with the little marshmallows Stiles likes. Quickly dumping a few into their hot chocolates – and a few extra in Stiles’s – he heads into the living room.

  
Stiles thanks his dad for the drink, staring down at the proffered mug intently. John notices how Stiles is watching his drink rather than the movie. Pressing pause on the remote, John set his own mug down on the coffee table before turning to Stiles.

  
“You want to talk about it, kiddo?”

  
Stiles hesitates for a moment before whispering, “I’m sorry.”

  
“It’s not a big deal, Stiles,” John says, assuming Stiles meant for his accident.

  
“No, not – not for that.”

  
“For what then?”

  
Stiles shrugs, still looking at his hot chocolate, before answering, “Everything.”

  
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” John says firmly. “What brought this on, kid?”

  
“I had a dream that you got tired of me,” Stiles says quietly, not wanting to tell his dad just what he had dreamed.

  
“That’s what scared you,” John said, more of a statement than a question.

  
Stiles nods, poking at the marshmallows. Taking Stiles’s mug from his hands, John sets it on the coffee table, pulling Stiles close to him.

  
“I could never get tired of you, Stiles.”

  
Stiles nods, snuggling closer and letting his head fall to his dad’s chest. John picks up the remote and unpauses the movie before wrapping a protective arm around his son.  
And yeah, there are going to be ups and downs, John knows that, but this – having Stiles tucked under his arm, John will _never_ get tired of that.


End file.
